An Amiable Encounter
by Lunalelle
Summary: The typical AU – Where would they be if Erik and Marie were never mutants?


**Title:** An Amiable Encounter

**Author:** Lunalelle

**Pairing:** Rogue/Magneto gen (Charles/Erik)

**Rating:** PG-13

**Universe:** Movieverse

**Challenge:** AU challenge at Demented Allure

**Word count:** 3304 words

**Summary:** _The typical AU – Where would they be if Erik and Marie were never mutants?_

**Notes:** Give me a break and let me play with clichés. They go down well. I'm not sure how accurate this is, but I tried.

"I'm going to kill you, Charles."

"I'm just trying to help you get out of this school," Charles said. "You're either on the grounds or in the attic, and it's time for you to begin networking."

"Networking?" Erik said. "You signed me up for a plan at the Senior Community Center."

"Denying your age isn't going to make you any younger."

"Bowling tournaments every Friday. Bridge on Tuesdays. Croquet and tea on Wednesday afternoon. And oh, look, Charles, I can knit baby blankets right after tea," Erik said. "Then we can reminisce about the old days and leer at all the young girls volunteering there for their honor societies and sororities until six when we have our tasteless dinner."

Charles directed his chair forward until he sat next to Erik at the window. One attic wall had been removed and replaced with a giant plane of thick glass. Erik did not like to feel shut in, although Charles did not understand why Erik wanted to stay within the grounds of the school if he so loved to be free. He had not pressed the issue for twenty five years. If he did not press the issue soon, the issue would leave Erik a decrepit, bitter old man surrounded by children that always reminded him of his past but for their remarkable strength and energy in the face of persecution. The reminder was why he held exclusive lectures there in his attic.

"I'm not asking you to become an old codger, but you get senior benefits at fifty five. I anticipated that you would have a quieter introduction to five miles from the school if you were with people your own age. The Community Center is exclusively for active seniors – I'm not sending you to a nursing home by any means."

"Then where exactly are you sending me?" Erik asked. "Sachet Central?"

"Erik, the day you smell like sachet or too much perfume is the day I get up and walk. You know I can't stand that smell anymore than you can." Charles rested a hand on his forearm, careful to avoid the tattoo about which Erik was understandably sensitive. "If you don't like it there, you can always come back here. It's only for a few hours a day during the week. It's simply recreation. It's not something you _have_ to do. But I would like you to try. I don't like that you're so solitary all the time."

"I interact with the students, and I sleep with you. What more do you want?" Erik snapped. He pulled away just enough to show his annoyance but not violent enough for anger. Erik knew why Charles did this, but it still made Erik feel like he continued to be an inadequate companion, particularly for an extremely powerful mutant who could single-handedly kill everyone with his thoughts were it not for his careful control. Such a careful man. There were benefits to his compassion, but Erik was not always pleasant and felt no need to hide his moods as they passed through his mind. It was not as though _he_ could destroy anything but a few innocent chairs. And he had to pay for those when he did.

"Is it so wrong for me to want you to be happy?"

"I _am_ happy."

"Your scowl really convinced me."

_Charles used his telepathic power on me, I know it_, Erik thought as he sat on the sofa, staring at the television. He had finally consented to Monday afternoon's Movie Day. He had not expected that they would be watching an old movie musical that was not very good to begin with. Or that the group would mostly be comprised of ladies in pastel. Or that the ladies would be talking constantly through their movie about their children and grandchildren and their feet and their cats and politics. Or that three of them would whisper to themselves about him.

Suddenly he wanted to go back to the mansion and take up Ororo's history class because it would be less excruciating than this.

Fortunately, the movie had been over for thirty minutes and the ladies had retired to the back of the room where they could talk about the same thing, just with cookies. The two other men who were there ignored him mostly, unconcerned and occasionally suspicious of the newcomer, but Erik preferred to have the sofa to himself rather than feel himself crushed against the arm to accommodate enough birds to comprise a chorus line. It was hard to breathe when his life resembled that of a sardine, and he liked space, needed space….

A young woman ran through the glass double doors, brushing her hair out of her face and looking harried. She attracted the attention of everyone in the room, mostly because, in spite of all the gossiping, the volume never went above a murmur and the sound of her heels on the linoleum echoed sharply. Also, anyone was interested in what young person was volunteering that day, if just to smile sweetly when she was there and deride her fashion sense, her accent, or her heritage behind her back. Erik never realized how vicious the elderly could be and wished he did not have to put himself in the same category. Not that he wouldn't deride this one behind her back. He would just do it in his head. Charles could berate him later.

When she managed to compose herself, though, she did look nice. Good hair, thick, rich brunette. Good legs under the knee-length skirt. She was not beautiful, but she was attractive. Interesting face. The girl bent over to sign in at the reception counter, and Erik allowed himself a few seconds of appreciation before returning his attention to the television.

Every news hour felt like it had to comment on the mutant controversy every day. Charles did not like him watching it because of the look on Erik's face when he did. Erik never told Charles – he suspected Charles knew anyway – that he sometimes remembered the past too vividly when he saw that history too soon and too well repeated. There was a news report about a mutant teenager beaten into a coma in his hometown in Alabama. Erik did not know how hard he gripped the arm of the sofa until the girl walked by and touched his hand lightly.

"Hey," she said, "are you all right?"

Erik heard a slightly repressed Southern accent. He could never tell the difference between any of the specific dialects down there, but this one did not grate too much on his ears, so he thought she must at least be intelligent enough. He forced himself to offer a smile as he let go of the arm. His plan for dismissal did not work as well as he would have hoped because she sat down on the cushion next to him, far enough not to intrude too much on his space.

"It's terrible, ain't… isn't it?" she said, looking at the news report as it cut to Senator Kelly and his opinion on the matter.

"What is terrible?" Erik asked. He could feel frustration and anger immediately react to the mutant issue. Politics were nothing to talk about in polite company, but if she were to make herself company, he could not endure someone against mutant freedom.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to step on anyone's toes," she said. She turned so that he could see her name tag: Marie. "I just meant… I don't know. I don't like the idea of camps and collars, but I'm not sure whether registration would be such a bad idea."

"I _would_ be a bad idea," Erik said.

"You sound pretty sure," Marie said.

"I _am_ sure."

"I just… I think that Senator Kelly may be a bit more militant than he needs to be, but there are _some_ dangerous mutants out there, even if they don't want to be," Marie said. "I've heard there are mutants that can read and control minds or can kill a person just by touching them. Don't you think the government should have some idea who has these powers?"

"The man who controls minds likes coffee in the morning or else he gets irritable," Erik said. "Believe me, if he wanted to control the world, you would know. Although for all you know, he's Senator Kelly… he seems to have the Senate on a string. The woman who kills a person by touching them probably likes to play basketball and eat pizza with her friends."

"I understand your point," Marie said, "but it's just registration, what harm could it do? Wait… the first one, the man…"

"I'll tell you what harm it would do," Erik snapped. His voice was getting louder, and he noticed that there was a hush in the room. He did not always catch himself when the back of his mind flared red and he felt like lashing out, but he bit his tongue until the rest of the room settled into its low murmur again. It was not easy to remain calm – Charles usually helped him with that, sometimes without even having to come into his mind. Still, Charles was not here, and Erik supposed this was why Charles kicked him out of the mansion in the first place.

"It starts with registration. Just a picture, a name, and a description of mutation," Erik continued. He noted he still had a captive audience. Not all young people were willing to listen, and the ability to do so was rare. He felt himself warm to that response alone. "Then come the interrogations or psychological therapies to make the mutation repress itself – because the newer stages of mutation generally occur at early adolescence, the child will be young enough to feel shame at being different rather than understanding the gift possessed. Some mutants cannot hide, and these will continue to be persecuted, first in what seems like the usual bullying, but then we'll see more like this Mike Ferrier, in the hospital with a coma because the spines on his back regenerate too quickly to keep them sawed off."

"What if some of these mutants _want_ the therapy offered to them?" Marie asked. "One of my friends, his younger brother's a mutant. I don't even know what his mutation is, he keeps it hidden so well. He seems happy."

"Sometimes as large as mutation cannot be kept a secret for long, especially with registration," Erik said. He felt himself growing angry again. "Soon even that happy child will be given a sign of his mutation. Maybe a double helix to symbolize DNA that he can stick on his clothes. Then everyone will know and be able to keep themselves at a distance or know just which people to target all their hatred and violence. Then, emboldened by their previous successes, advocates of mutant registration will lobby for more stringent methods to keep the nation safe from the strange, dangerous, occasionally powerful people. They will want some way to physically repress them – perhaps a collar or a serum or a chip in their body. Then come the camps, Marie, and it will happen so subtly that each will seem the logical progression from the last until it's too late to stop it."

"It's kind of a pessimistic…"

"_Don't_," Erik said sharply. "It isn't pessimism. It's realism. I've seen this before. I've heard all these arguments before. It _always_ starts this way, and the population is so scared of impurity, so afraid for the safety of their children, that they will support mutant registration. That's what it comes down to, _Marie_. Fear." Erik sat back. He had not realized how tense he was until he relaxed his shoulders against the contours of the sofa's back.

Marie stared at him. He felt like she was assessing him – he wished she was absorbing his words instead.

"It's the Holocaust you're talking about, isn't it?" Marie said. "That's the comparison you're making. I'm not sure whether it's a good comparison, though. That was a completely different situation…"

Erik stood. He felt his legs trembling. It was all he could do not to throw something, something breakable – the cheap porcelain children on the coffee table looked adequate… "Is it?"

"Wait," Marie said, standing with him and touching his shoulder. "I don't mean to offend, really I don't."

Erik knew she did not mean to, but she did, and that was enough. He closed his eyes and rolled up his sleeve. He felt her fingers on the tattooed numbers and felt the original pain of having the needle in his skin. He wrenched away and pushed his sleeve back down. He had tried to make a point; he was not trying to make a connection.

"I've seen it _all_ before," Erik said.

"I understand that," Marie said. But she did not understand – the Holocaust to her was a chapter in a history textbook. It was not seeing that great gate, being separated from your family, seeing your ribs farther out than your stomach, desperate for each thin slice of dry bread, waiting for some sort of salvation, almost believing that you are forsaken and worth the dirt under the Germans' feet because no one has come to rescue you. Marie's face was healthy, her flesh full and taut and unblemished. She had no knowledge of hell. That very ignorance was why Erik let her pull him back down onto the sofa.

"It _is_ different," she said quietly. "The people in the Holocaust camps. They were people, they were humans. Mutants… there it is in their name. They're different. They aren't human. And they… they aren't…"

"Weak?" Erik offered. "These victims can fight back."

"Is it so wrong to be afraid of when they might?" Marie asked. "I mean, I'm good with a gun, but I wouldn't be able to shoot someone with tele- tele- damn, what's the word for someone who can move things with their mind?"

"Telekinesis."

"That's right. I wouldn't be able to stop someone with telekinesis if they came after me just because I'm i not /i a mutant."

"And by default, the enemy," Erik finished for her.

"Yes."

"Be afraid," Erik said.

"That's not very comforting, sugar," Marie said.

"It's what happens when the more powerful are made the enemy," Erik said.

Marie narrowed her eyes in curiosity. "Are you a mutant?"

"Does it matter?" Erik asked.

Marie held up her hand. "Don't get defensive with me, I wouldn't start hating you if you were. It's just… if the mutants came after me, they'd come after you, too."

Erik felt a sort of inexplicable peace at that, as though he had been in a tremendous circle all his life and finally completed the cycle to come back where he started. "I suppose they would," he said. _But Charles would have something to say about that._

"Doesn't that bother you?" Marie asked.

"No," Erik replied. "It seems oddly fitting. But then, death doesn't mean the same thing to me as it does to you."

"You want to be a mutant."

"The irony might be too good."

"But you do."

"… Yes," Erik said quietly.

Marie looked at him for a while, clearly thinking. "What's your name, sir?"

"Erik Lensherr," he said. "It's Mr. Lensherr to you."

That earned him a small smile, and for all the time she spent with him, it made him feel a little better. "I go to the local university, and I volunteer here weekly, Mr. Lensherr. I think I'll enjoy my visits here more if you're here. This is your first time, isn't it?"

Erik nodded.

"I saw who referred you to us," Marie continued. "Does a Mr. Charles Xavier get irritable if he doesn't have his coffee in the morning?"

Erik froze.

"Don't worry," Marie whispered. "I won't tell. He runs that school up north of her, doesn't he? The school for young mutants. I've heard of him."

"You have a better eye for detail than I thought," Erik said.

"It's the accent, isn't it?" Marie said, blushing a little. "I tried to get rid of it when I came up north, but it stuck around for the ride, I guess." She looked down at her hands. "It's a good school, I've heard, even just for state standards. Strange things happen, though."

"One would imagine," Erik said.

"You live there?"

Erik did not feel comfortable telling anyone where he slept. "I teach there."

Her eyes lit up. "What do you teach?"

"Advanced physics," Erik said.

"It sounds like an excellent place for young mutants to go," Marie said slowly. Erik sensed that she was being sincere, but diplomatic. "I met a few before I went to college, panhandling on the streets, all the way up to the border. Even when people are frightened, I don't understand how parents can throw their kids out."

"You'd be surprised," Erik murmured.

"I've overstayed my welcome, haven't I?" Marie said. "I do that. I'm sorry. I like being around people, like talking, getting to know them. I haven't bothered you too much, have I? Tell me honestly."

"Use that eye for detail, Marie," Erik said. "You'll see what you need to see. What's your area of study?"

"Psychology," Marie said. "I want to go into Social Services. I didn't exactly have the best relationship with my parents."

"And you don't think they would have thrown you out if you had been a mutant?" Erik asked.

Marie paused. "Maybe," she finally said. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Oh, I think you have," Erik said, standing again.

"Thank you for coming here and letting me talk," Marie said. "I could see you were uncomfortable here. You _will_ come back, won't you, Mr. Lensherr? I'd be willing to talk some more about… about mutants, I guess. You have an open ear if you want it."

She was young and eager. A willing student. Erik's specialty was not social interaction, and he was tempted to say he would return when the mutants had torched the place, but something about her smile and the way she lightly brushed his hand made him reconsider.

"I couldn't miss the chess tournament," he said dryly. "Just don't expect me for bingo, bridge, or bowling, I cannot…"

"Preaching to the choir, sugar," Marie replied, smiling. She offered him her hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lensherr. Really."

Erik slowly took the proffered hand and shook it. The act seemed like a sort of pact, and Erik wondered what he had gotten himself into. "Goodbye," he said, bypassing the pleasure part and grabbing his hand and coat.

"Give your friend my regards," Marie said.

Cheeky. That he would do. He acknowledged her with a turn of his head and an almost imperceptible tip of his hat before walking out of the double doors where Ororo waited for him with her car.

"Admit it, Erik, you enjoyed yourself," Charles said. "You can't hide much from me."

"I did not _enjoy_ myself, Charles, it was simply bearable," Erik replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off his shirt. "And _you_, my friend, are coming to next week's chess tournament if I have to roll you there myself."

Charles shook his head. "I'm not the one who…"

"There's a female volunteer just dying to meet you, and you're only a little younger than I am," Erik said cheerfully. "Besides, when was the last time _you_ left the mansion?"

"Just last week, I went to the…"

"For recreation?"

"I…"

"You're coming." Erik leaned back against the headboard and smiled. If he was going to have to endure the Community Center, he would be damned if he did not drag Charles along for the ride.

**Notes:** When I was thinking of what Rogue and Magneto would be like if they had never been mutants, I came to the conclusion that for Erik, it wouldn't be drastically different – aside from the fact he might not have survived the death camp… but they don't know if that was his mutation or blind luck. His life is based on two experiences, closely intertwined, but separate nonetheless: the concentration camps and his mutation, one that brought him down and the other that raised him up again. Assuming that he still met with Charles at the psychiatric hospital, I imagine that the part of his personality at this point mostly constructed by his experience at the camps was what it needed to be to attract Xavier. And since they didn't reveal their mutant powers but debated a superhuman race, I think they could still be very close. Anyway, my point is that I think Erik would be just as passionate, but not to the point of fanaticism since he's not the one directly targeted and is, in fact, the weaker vessel. It's hard to imagine Erik as anyone else since he's much older than Rogue.

What comprises a lot of Rogue's personality in the television show is being raised as basically, if I understand correctly, white trash, then thrown out of her house because she was a mutant. I think her sassy attitude hid something a little stronger, and coupled with the movieverse's more middle-class depiction of her, I imagine she's smart, personable, and likes to travel. This took place after that travel, and she wants to spend time around people. But a great deal of angst surrounding mutation has been deleted, and she's a completely different person.

There, a lot of waffling by someone a little insecure about the way she wrote the characters. Still, I'm only beginning, and I enjoyed playing with a little bit of humor.


End file.
